Recovery
by MiracoloDiGigi
Summary: Gemma Teller-Morrow never considered herself a victim; she hated being seen as one, she refused to see herself as one. The impossibility of coming to terms with her rape made recovery a long process, and Clay attempts to help talk her through it.


Upon backing his bike up into the driveway and hanging his helmet off of it, Clay headed inside after a long day at work - And he did mean work, this time. No protection runs, no illegal business for the day, just time in the garage, working on bikes and other vehicles for paying customers. The only even remotely illegal activity for the day was sitting around the table in the clubhouse, discussing the club's next move. It almost seemed normal. Except, his life was anything but normal, he couldn't even deny it anymore. The circumstances concerning Gemma's recent gang rape courtesy of Zobelle and his men only reinforced that statement.

As he stepped into the house, and kicked the front door shut behind him, the smell of marijuana caught him off guard and damn near sent him staggering. He snapped his head in the direction of the smoke, the source of it being Gemma, who sat with the joint between her lips, neatly positioned on the sofa like the queen he knew she was. She flashed him a smile; a sort of hollow smile he knew was caused by the drugs and the rape. Suddenly his excitement to see her and his want to relax seemed to fade away. He wasn't angry, really, just frustrated. Rather than talking to him, she buried her sorrows in weed and he'd dealt with it for far too long, now. Only tonight it'd pushed him over the edge. It'd been one time too many.

"The hell are you doin'?" Clay called gruffly, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the otherwise empty house as he walked toward the living room.

"What's it look like?" Came Gemma's response. It was sarcastic, as usual, but still somewhat forced. "I'm bakin' a cake." She added. That came out dryly. For a moment she seemed entirely serious, and Clay quirked a brow at her.

Rather than snapping, the former vet turned convict plucked the joint from his wife's lips, leaning over to the coffee table to crush it in the ash tray. Gemma was just about ready to slap him, or so it seemed, but instead she huffed. "Unser give you that crap?" Clay questioned.

"Maybe." She responded, rolling her shoulders in a light shrug, looking away from Clay. Truthfully, she'd seemed to be getting better, coming to terms with what'd happened, but some nights, such as this one, she felt like a ball of yarn slowly unravelling.

"Jesus Christ, Gem, you've gotta cut this shit out." Clay broke the silence once more, reaching to take his wife's hand. Her hand jerked slightly in his own as if about to pull away, but then went limp in defeat again. "Can't use Unser's weed to forget about what happened! You've gotta talk about it... Talk to me. I'm right here, baby." His voice then softened, his blue eyes focused on her dark hues. For a moment, he was almost pleading her to tell him something; and he realized just how easily she could tear him apart too. Her emotional distress greatly effected him. "Please..."

Gemma shook her head, slowly. She finally tilted her head toward Clay, immediately locking eyes with him. She nearly pulled away as tears clouded her vision, but she quickly blinked them away. Rather than shutting him out again and breaking his heart once more, upon noticing the look in his eyes, she leaned into him, curling into his broad chest. She rested her head against his kutte, and briefly closed his eyes. "I'm okay," she tried to quell his worry as well as her own, moving a hand up to rest against his chest, "promise... No more smokin' joints with Unser." She added, tilting her head up to him. For the first time since the incident, she realized how much he truly loved her and how much she loved him. Her love for JT was different. Hell, it almost seemed fake, now. Clay was the one for her. And, seeing the broken up look in his eyes, the pain, the fear, she knew she needed to stop sulking and being miserable around him. She needed to fight through it, she needed to return to being the woman he'd fallen in love with.

Clay, somewhat surprised yet relieved, by how she reacted, lowered his head as she spoke her words, uttering her promise, almost into the leather of his kutte as she leaned into him. He pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head, an action which almost seemed impossible for a man of his size, nature and profession. He was a whole different man around her. Although she still wasn't talking about the rape, he supposed this was better. At least she was letting him in, letting him touch her rather than jerking away. "I'm sorry this had to happen..." Clay murmured against her hair as he rested against the top of her head, his words entirely sincere.

Closing her eyes, the matriarch inhaled her husbands scent. His aftershave, the smell of smoke that lingered on him, the smell of his worn-down leather kutte, the smell of gas and whatever else he worked with on the cars at Teller-Morrow... It calmed her nerves entirely. But his words practically shattered her heart to a million pieces. She was afraid of telling him for this reason; afraid he'd end up blaming himself. The rape, after all, was meant to be a message for him. "It's not your fault, baby." She was quick to respond, tilting her head up to look him in the eyes again, moving her hand from his chest to caress his cheek, delicately. "Don't let yourself think it was."

He could've thought of and easily listed the reasons as to how and why the events were his fault, but instead, a shaky sigh escaped his lips and he nodded his head in utter defeat. They both still had to come to terms with what'd happened, for different reasons. "I love you." Was all he managed in response. For once, he was at a complete and utter loss now.

"I love you." Gemma repeated the phrase, tilting her head again so it rested comfortably against his chest, her hand sliding back down, somewhat lower, to his abdomen, settling there. She repeated the words once more under her breath, nuzzling into the leather of his kutte gently.

As the silence carried out, Clay wrapped his arms firmly around his wife, almost protectively and he sunk back further into the couch with her half in his lap, resting on him. Neither of them were sleeping, but they were both entirely quiet. Throughout the silence, Gemma was working up the confidence to speak up and ask Clay a question. She finally broke the silence, and asked, "Let's go for a ride... On your bike. It's been awhile. I miss it..." She confessed, lifting her head once more.

Clay lifted his head as well, so he could look her in the eyes. A small smile grew upon his lips at her words, and he nodded his head, not giving it much thought. She was right, it had been awhile, and he probably missed it just as much. "'Course..."

He stated, before he leaned forward slightly, scooping her up into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested on his chest again as he carried her out to his bike, before setting her down on it. He passed her a spare helmet before putting his own on, moving to straddle his bike. Within a moment longer or so, the bike's engine roared to life, and Gemma leaned forward, pressing up against Clay. Her arms slid around his waist, and gave him a gentle squeeze, her head against his shoulder blade.

"Ready?" His rough voice called over the roar of the engine.

"Ready... And, Clay?"

"Yeah?" He tilted his head back to her, curiously.

"Thank you."


End file.
